


Sheriarty 30 Day Challenge

by iriswallpaper



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: American Football, Case, Chippers, Chippers the Chip Shop Owner - Freeform, Crime Scenes, Daddy Kink, Definetly unclean use of communion elements, Domestic Fluff, Dorothy dress from Wizard of Oz as a sex toy, Groping in cabs, Hanging Out, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, It would never be boring, Jim in a fishnet tank and leather pants, Kissing, Loneliness, M/M, Making Out, Pet Names, Priest Kink, Priest/altar boy sex game but NOT underage, Prostitution Roleplay, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Religion Kink, Scar Tissue, Sex Games, Shooting, Song Lyrics, Storms, Surgery, Tattoos, The Game they play, The possibilities for weird shit are endless when Jim Morarity is involved, Their wierd brand of tenderness, Trespassing, Tropes, Weirdness, mention of suicide, role play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-07-26 14:46:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 4,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7578223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iriswallpaper/pseuds/iriswallpaper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'm late to the party and new to the ship. All credit goes to Anarfea and Jamlocked for opening my eyes with their amazing Sheriarty 30 Day Challenge fics.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 13 - OTP Names

**Author's Note:**

> Starting on Day 13 because that's when I decided to join the challenge.

13\. OTP Names

Sherlock squirmed in Jim’s lap, digging his knees further into the crack where the sofa cushions met the back, trying to get his body as close to Jim’s as the saggy old sofa and his long legs would allow.

Jim responded by cupping Sherlock’s arse and pulling him so close that sofa springs dug into his knees. Biting just slightly too hard, Jim traced a line up Sherlock’s endless neck to his right ear. Licking its outline Jim purred, “Call me daddy.” He breathed onto the wet so he could feel Sherlock's answering shiver. 

Sherlock hesitated, spine stiffening briefly, then melted against Jim again. Breathing into Jim’s ear, he murmured, “Call me baby first.”

Jim’s hands slid up the fine fabric of Sherlock’s cotton shirt to rest on his shoulders. Pressing lightly, he held Sherlock far enough away to look into his eyes. 

A long moment passed, neither man willing to give in first. 

Finally, Jim rolled his eyes and sighed. “Fine, your point this time, baby,” he grumbled, then pulled Sherlock down to kiss the grin from his lips. 

“No one’s keeping score, daddy.”


	2. 14 - Inclement Weather

Sherlock jerked awake to a crack of thunder pealing right over head. He looked around the room as it echoed through the room. A silhouette melted out of the shadows in the corner and stopped in front of the window. It jerked the curtains aside and threw up the sash.

“Don’t you just love the smell? Right before it rains?” A jagged-edged, lilting voice asked. “Ozoney.” The dark outline turned toward Sherlock. “So manly.”

A lightning flash briefly illuminated dark eyes staring intently toward Sherlock.

Sherlock shook off the sheet and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He sat, comfortable in his nudity, not feeling the need to reply.

Another bright flash lit a maniacal grin.

“Why did you come?” Sherlock knew it is pointless to ask how Jim had gotten into his room. Jim delighted in breaking into Baker Street and leaving tiny traces of his visits for Sherlock to find. Tonight was the fifth - or was it the sixth - time Jim had visited uninvited.

“Oh, thought the storm might scare my baby.” The dark, hungry tone of voice contrasted with the caring words in a way that made Sherlock shiver.

“I’m fine. Of course I’m not afraid of thunder.” Sherlock felt annoyed. He wasn’t in a mood to join in to their game; he’d been awake for 36 hours straight and had only been in bed a few hours.

Jim advanced, still silhouetted against the faint glow of the window. He stopped just in front of Sherlock’s knees and peered down at the naked man. “But baby might need a little _comfort_. Right, doll face?”

Something stirred in the pit of Sherlock’s stomach at Jim’s inflection on the word _comfort_. Spreading his knees wide, Sherlock drew the dark figure to him. He laid his cheek on Jim’s chest and listened to the steady beat of his heart. It was comforting, but not in the way he wanted at the moment.

Relaxing, giving in to the game, Sherlock replied softly, “Yes, daddy” as rain began to fall.

 


	3. 15 Crack

Sherlock used to ignore any UNKNOWN NUMBER and RESTRICTED NUMBERS that rang in on his mobile. But lately, since he and Jim had started their whatever-it-was, he answered just in case and was usually rewarded with a lilting voice greeting him with a sing-song “hello!”

That’s why he turned away from John when he glanced at his phone and saw RESTRICTED NUMBER. They’d just finished up at a crime scene and were on their way to grab dinner before heading back to Baker Street. Punching the green circle, he ducked his head and murmured, “hello?”

“Sherlock. There’s a crack house in South London. Their most recent product is tainted.” Jim’s voice was low and urgent.

Sherlock’s brow crinkled. He turned further away from John and answered even more quietly, “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because people will DIE.”

“But, that’s what people … do.” Sherlock’s voice held no humor. He was truly surprised at Jim’s concern for human life.

“Yes, yes, doll face, they do. But this one is just a little too.” Jim drew in a ragged breath. “Close to home.”

“You’re concerned. About me. That I may get some of their product.”

“Uh huh, sweetheart. I am.” Jim’s normal sing-song cadence was back although his voice remained quiet. “Thought you might like a little puzzle, too. I’m not telling you where, or who.”

Sherlock glanced over his shoulder at John, who shifted from foot to foot on the corner, obviously impatient. “I need more to go on.”

He could hear Jim lick his lips. “That’ll cost you, baby.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Sherlock grimaced. He didn’t want to say _it_ anywhere near John. He didn’t want his flatmate and friend to know anything about the little game he and Jim played when they were alone. He pressed the phone to his cheek and breathed, “What price, daddy?”

Jim’s chuckle filled his hear - the warn, genuine laugh Sherlock loved. “You just paid it, baby. I’m texting you more details now. But you’ll still have to work for it. Laters!”

Sherlock pocketed his mobile and wiped the tiny smile off his face before he turned back around to John.

“What was that all about?” John asked.

Sherlock grinned. “A case, John. The game is on!”


	4. 16 Injury

_Ivy_

_Limestone_

_Leather_

_Locust_

Four words arrived in four different texts over a quarter hour period. Sherlock shared them with John but was vague about their source. If John just happened to think the info came from Scotland Yard, that was his own assumption. That’s what Sherlock told himself to soothe his conscience about brining John in on Jim’s case.

Through practical experience, online research, mining his Mind Palace and not a little luck, Sherlock solved it in less than 24 hours and he and John found themselves crouched in a shadowed alley behind a boarded-up tenement, watching strung-out junkies come and go at odd intervals. Sherlock texted the address to Lestrade; they were in a holding pattern until the Met showed up.

At least they had been, until a door that had been hidden in shadow opened just a few feet to their left. And a large, very angry, very heavily armed man stormed out.

John drew his gun and fired preemptively but his pistol wasn’t much of a defense against an M16. Bullets whizzed around them and tiny explosions of brick dust erupted beside their heads. “GET DOWN, GET DOWN!” John shouted as he shoved Sherlock to the filthy pavement and knelt in front of him. At last John’s bullet connected and the shooter went down in a heap. John stood and held out a hand to help Sherlock up. While pulling Sherlock to his feet, John gasped loudly. “Christ, Sherlock! You’re hurt.”

Sherlock scowled at his blood-covered hand. He hadn’t felt pain until the realization that he’d been shot in the arm set in and suddenly his arm seemed to erupt in flames. He sagged against the house, not sure if he heard sirens in the distance or if it was his hears ringing. With that thought, darkness gathered at the edges of his vision and he went down again.

~*~

“Not exactly the outcome I’d hoped for.”

Sherlock swam toward the sing-song voice through a sea of wet concrete. With Herculean effort he opened his eyes to find himself in a dimly lit hospital room with Jim sitting beside the bed. His eyes ached as he glanced toward the window - the sky outside was black.

“Thought your _little blogger_ would never leave.” Jim laughed. “Get that? Little? Because he’s ...”

“I get it.” The words came out slowly, like Sherlock was talking with a throat full of gravel.

“Go away before someone finds you here.”

Jim patted Sherlock’s good arm. “Don’t worry, honey. Got that taken care of.” He winked dramatically.

“Did it do any good?” Sherlock glanced toward his bandaged arm.

Jim nodded. “Yep. Your friends the Met got the dealer. And his _dirty_ cocaine.” He leaned forward and smoothed Sherlock’s hair away from his forehead then kissed his hairline. “Baby’s safe now. Well, if you don’t count getting _SHOT_.” Jim whisper-shouted the last word. In an instant his mood changed from tender to furious.

“Didn’t plan on that.”

“You’ve got to be more careful, Shirley-boy.” Somehow Jim managed to make tender words sound menacing.

Sherlock didn’t answer. The siren song of narcotics called him back into unconsciousness. He closed his eyes and just as he gave into the pull of blackness, he thought he heard, “I couldn’t live without you.”

Later, when he woke again to an empty room, he convinced himself he’d imagined it.


	5. 17 Domestic

“Move your elbow.”

“You move your elbow. I was here first.”

“Fine. I’ll just…”

“No, stay.”


	6. 18 Exotic Animals

“The criminal cut a small hole through the vinyl siding and exterior sheeting with a hand held pruning saw, pulled out the wall insulation from between the studs - which you’ll find behind that purple rhododendron bush - then cut through the interior wallboard. He pushed a ferret through the hole, knowing that ferrets are natural enemies of snakes. The ferret climbed the table leg and dropped into the tank, bit the prize snake’s head nearly off, jumped out of the tank and to the floor. The criminal then enticed it back to the hole with a few cat treats. He pulled the treats back through the hole, thus leading the ferret back outside where he nabbed it and ran.”

Sherlock spun away from the house in a swirl of coattails, hopped the shrubbery and regained his footing on the grass. He grinned over his shoulder at Lestrade as he strode away. “Check pet store records to see who recently bought an albino ferret. That’s your man.”

He pulled out his phone as he left through the front gate. Waiting at the corner for a taxi, he typed:

_Ferret? Really? Hardly an elegant crime._

A reply came almost immediately:

_But it made you laugh, didn’t it, sexy?_

Chuckling, Sherlock pocketed his phone.


	7. 19 Going Undercover

**“Oh _GOD_!”** Sherlock gritted the words between clenched teeth. This little game they played - tonight they’d taken it outside the confines of their homes.

It had been Jim’s idea. Just a game, something to add a little spice to their sex life. Sherlock had pretended to be bored by the idea but he’d turned away to adjust his obvious excitement before Jim noticed.

That’s how he came to find himself writhing and panting and nearly mad with desire between Jim’s expensive cotton sheets. Jim had posed as a prostitute and insisted Sherlock take a cab to ‘pick him up.’ The shame and humiliation of directing the cabbie to their prearranged corner made Sherlock’s cheeks burn. And once he’d ‘closed the deal’ with a Jim clad in tight black leather pants and a fishnet tank top, hair gelled high with glittery stuff, he’d suffered more embarrassment as Jim fondled him in the back of the cab.

And now, after Sherlock had pretended to the cabbie that this was his flat, not the ‘rent boy’ he’d just picked up, Sherlock got his reward under the covers - Jim could suck cock like a professional. He could teach the real rent boys a thing or two, but Sherlock shuddered at the thought of Jim giving such a class.

Before he shuddered for other reasons.


	8. 20 AU and 21 Kisses

“I hate football. Why are you making me suffer this game?”

“Auburn is on track to win the championship, Sherlock! It’s been ages since my favorite team won, doll face. Just watch with me. Indulge me.”

“But American football? Oversized Cretans running into each other for what? The pigskin?”

“Shut up. You’ll make me miss the kickoff.”

“I’ll make you miss your precious kickoff.” Sherlock leaned sideways on the sofa and captured Jim’s lips with his own, blocking Jim’s view of the telly with his curls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you get it? AU = Auburn University. Play on the prompt :)


	9. 22 Ritual

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING - there is implied ageplay in this ficlet and implied priest/altar boy ageplay. Don't read it if this will squick you.

Jim arrived dressed in a black cassock - definitely one of the weirder role plays he’d proposed. Sherlock quirked an eye at the priest’s robe. “I didn’t know you had a … religion kink.”

Jim winked and tossed Sherlock an oversized white altar boy robe. “Whaddaya think?” Jim trilled as he spun to make the cassock’s skirt flare and the wooden rosary around his neck fly perpendicular to the white collar at his throat. He stopped facing Sherlock and eyed the white robe still dangling from Sherlock’s fingers. “Put it on, sexy.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Must I? Can’t I be a … parishioner instead?”

Jim sidled up and pressed himself against Sherlock's shoulder-to-knee. “I’ve got plans, baby. Play along and I’ll make it good,” he whispered in Sherlock’s ear.

A shiver ran down Sherlock’s spine at the want in Jim’s voice. He shucked his suit jacket and tossed it on the sofa then jerked the altar boy robe over his head. Jim straightened it over his shoulders and smoothed the folds down his sides. “I brought something else, too, doll.” He turned away briefly and came back with a bottle of sacramental wine and small plate of communion wafers. “Thought we could have a little snack with our game. Blood of Christ, body of Christ and all that.”

The _crack_ as Jim opened the wine’s screw top lid made Sherlock flinch. Jim upended the bottle and drank deeply, then pushed his index finger into its neck and tipped it sideways. His finger came out dripping with dark red wine. “Kneel, baby.”

Sherlock dropped to his knees and looked up at Jim. Jim painted the outline of his lips with his wine-soaked finger. “Blood of Christ, shed for your sins,” he sing-songed in a parody of the Communion ritual. Leaning over and cupping Sherlock’s head, Jim slowly licked the sweet wine away. “And those lips are pure sin.” 

Straightening up, Jim took a wafer from the plate. “Body of Christ, broken for you.” _How did he manage to make the ritual sound so sexy?_ Sherlock closed his eyes and opened his mouth, expecting a dry, flavorless wafer on his tongue. Instead he felt Jim’s first two long, tapered fingers caress his tongue. “I think you need an extra special penance since you’ve been a bad, bad boy.” 

Sherlock’s pulse quickened at the ragged edge to Jim’s voice. He closed his lips around Jim’s fingers and sucked, working his tongue up and down their length. Jim sucked in a breath in response before continuing, “Oh, you’re _sorry_ , aren’t you, baby? So, so sorry.” 

Eyes still closed, Sherlock nodded as much as he could with Jim’s fingers still in his mouth. He heard a rustling then the metallic sound of a zip being undone. A small sound escaped around the fingers in his mouth and he squirmed in anticipation.


	10. 23 Angst

Exhausted from a leap off a building, being bundled into hiding and then 72 hours on the run, Sherlock falls into a narrow bed in a basement apartment in a run down neighborhood of Brest, Belarus. He closes his eyes for the first time in four days.

But sleep eludes him. He tosses and thrashes, tormented by the image of a dark haired man laying face up in a pool of blood, lifeless eyes staring at the blue afternoon sky. Another image of a gun between mauve lips, a trigger pulled so suddenly it made Sherlock jump back in shock. Another of a stream of dark red blood inching it’s way across the the concrete roof of Bart’s Hospital.

On his back again, Sherlock throws an elbow over his eyes to blot out the images. He heaves a huge breath and lets it out on a wet sound. His tight self control slips.

He finally allows himself to mourn the man he loved.


	11. 23 Hobbies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING - there is a severed penis in this story. Don’t read if it will squick or disgust you. But Jim is a sick bastard!

Sherlock stepped through the glass door from the loo into his bedroom, toweling his hair dry as he walked. He started when the dropped the towel around his shoulders and shook the curls out of his eyes to find Jim lounging in his bed, hands behind his head, shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows and barefoot.

“How did you get in this time?” Sherlock rolled his eyes as he spoke. “I’m going to get the doors alarmed.”

“Ped- _es_ - _tri_ -an.” Jim drew out the word in his mocking sing-song way. He rolled his eyes right back at Sherlock. “Do you really think that would make one bit of difference?” He sat up and tossed a clear plastic ziplock bag at Sherlock. “Brought you a little present, sexy.”

Catching it easily, Sherlock held the bag up at eye level. “Is this a…” He held it as far away from himself as he could and continued with a wrinkle of disgust between his eyebrows, “penis?”

Jim licked his lips lasciviously. “I know how you like dick, doll. Figured you’ve never dissected one though.”

Sherlock sat the bag carefully on the floor. “And where did you acquire this … specimen?”

Jim grinned, a maniacal glint lighting in his coal black eyes. “ _Casualty_ of my work.” He raised his eyebrows innocently.

Running his fingers through his hair to tame it a bit, Sherlock approached the bed. He let the towels drop away from his waist and shoulders and crawled up the bed to cage Jim in between his knees and elbows. “Satisfied client?”

The grin on Jim’s face grew to a wide smile. “Client is satisfied. Can’t say his mark was, so much, though. He’ll live but may walk a little _funny_.” He rose up to brush Sherlock’s lips with his. “I need to keep my consulting detective busy with his little _hobbies_.”

Sherlock lowered himself, letting his full weight press Jim into the mattress. He kissed him, forcing Jim’s lips open with his tongue, exploring the inside of his bottom lip and the ridge of his hard palate while Jim sucked gently on his tongue. Breaking the kiss, Sherlock murmured, “And if I’m caught with the mark’s DNA in my microscope?”

Jim wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s neck and pulled him down for kiss after kiss then finally answered. “No danger of that, hon. There’s a little matter of blackmail and counter blackmail.” More deep, distracting kisses. “He doesn’t want any of this getting out. I made sure a private surgeon who owed me a _favor_ was on hand. I’m certain there won’t be any police involvement”

“God you’re a sick bastard,” Sherlock managed to inject in between kisses.

“Takes one to know one,” Jim drawled.

Disentangling himself, Sherlock vaulted from the bed and grabbed the bag. He nicked his dressing gown from its hook as he opened the door.

“Hey! Where’re you going, sexy?” Disappointment saturated Jim’s voice.

Sherlock smiled over his shoulder. “Hobby time!”


	12. 24 Pick a Trope  25 Tattoo

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Hon, I’ve got a killer design.” Jim pouted prettily. “Didja catch that? _Killer_?” Jim snorted laughter.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “ _Killer_ design or no, the answer is still the same. Ab-so- _lut-_ ely not.”

Jim crossed the sitting room, leaned over and draped his arms around Sherlock’s neck to his face level with Sherlock’s. “But, sweetheart, I already did.” Jim placed a chaste kiss on Sherlock’s lips then held up his hand in front of Sherlock’s face, too close for Sherlock to really be able to see.

Sherlock grabbed the hand waving irritatingly close to his nose and held it at arm's length. “Oh. That’s actually. Hmmm … interesting.” He moved the white, shapely hand from side to side, focusing intently on the small black smudge just beside the knuckle of the index finger. “It could even be mistaken for a smudge of ink. Or dirt. Or tar. Or ... _ash_!”

Jim winked. “Gotcha!”

“I didn’t say I agree,” Sherlock grumbled.

“But look, hon. It’s _unfinished_. You know how that offends my aesthetic sensibilities!”

A fold appeared between Sherlock’s eyebrows as he stared intently at the small black tattoo on the side of Jim’s hand. It was faint, like a smudge or a thumbprint. Any observer would not even notice it was inked. But when combined with a mirror image of the design on another hand holding the hand Sherlock now held, the tattoos would form a small heart.

Sherlock rolled his eyes again. “Oh, _alright_. I’ll do it. But I still won’t hold your hand in public.”


	13. 26 Movie Verse AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know this isn't a movie verse AU but it's all I got. I just couldn't think of any movies that fit the bill. Well, other than Fight Club, and I was too lazy to write out a complicated Fight Club AU.

“You wear it tonight.”

“But I want to see _you_ in it. You look so _cute_.”

“I want to see you. You look _good_ in blue.”

“But it fits _you_ better.”

“ _You_ look better in white.”

“Your legs are nicer than mine.”

“No! _Your_ legs are nicer.”

“The bows fit in your hair better.”

“Shake yours out. They fit _just fine_.”

“Fuck it. Just kiss me.”

“Don’t you want to _play_ tonight?”

“I want to fuck more than play. C’mere.”

The Dorothy dress from Wizard of Oz costume lay crumpled on the floor as they kissed and wrestled for dominance on the big bed in Baker Street.


	14. 28 OT3

“Isn’t there _anyone_ you want to invite to _play_?” Jim’s normal singsong jumped up an octave, telling Sherlock that Jim really, really wanted to give playing with a third a try. “Molly Mouse? She might not use her tongue to speak up for herself, but I can tell you from experience she’s quite good with it at _other_ things.”

Sherlock recoiled as if he’d touched a hot stove. “God, no. And promise you will never, ever tell me the details.”

Jim huffed and rolled his eyes. “How about Jo…”

Sherlock cut Jim off before he finish the word. “Don’t you dare even say it out loud. No. He’s my friend and we’re keeping him out of this.” He gestured angrily between the two of them.

Jim held up both hands in front of him, palms out. “Okay, okay. _Touchy_ , aren’t we? How about Sargent Donovan? She’s quite _hot_ by anyone’s definition of the word.”

Sherlock looked at the ceiling as if he hoped God would strike him down to end the conversation. “Dear god, please tell me you’re joking.”

Jim puffed up his cheeks and exhaled loudly. “ _Fine,_ sexy. You pick someone. Surely there’s someone in all of England besides me who meets your _standards._ ”

Sherlock tented his hands in front of his chin and looked thoughtful. He tapped his front teeth with the tips of his index fingers. “There is someone. A friend…”

“ _Friend?_ ” Jim’s tone betrayed real surprise.

Sherlock refocused his attention on his lover/boyfriend/whatever-they-are. “More of a buddy. He owns a chip shop in the Marylebone Road. Always gives me extra portions. I think you’d like him.”

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a crossover with Chippers, the Chip Shop owner. Sherlock mentioned in TEH he'd helped him 'put up shelves.' This line sparked a creative storm of ChippersLock among several Sherlock fandom writers (including me). Skulls-and-tea posted a meta on tumblr in Fall 2015  
> [Putting Up Shelves](http://skulls-and-tea.tumblr.com/post/127755478946/i-helped-him-put-up-some-shelves%0A)  
> about ‘putting up shelves’ as a slang term for sex. Several posts went around with conjectures about Sherlock in TEH saying that he helped the chip shop owner put up shelves. Through evolution of tumblr posts, someone named the chip shop proprietor ‘Chippers.’ (Sorry but I can't remember who came up with that name - but thank you to whoever it was.)


	15. Day 29 Song Fic

They never spent the night. They picked each other’s locks and broke into each other’s flats in various other ways, showing up without warning in each other’s bedrooms. But they always left before full dawn, never actually _sleeping_ together. Never, until tonight.

Sherlock had tripped the panic alarm trying to break into Jim’s flat through the fire exit, inadvertently locking himself into the concrete block stairwell. Jim had laughed when Sherlock phoned him to let him out. To retaliate, Sherlock had aggressively kissed the smirk off Jim’s face - that had progressed into rough, nearly-voilent sex that had started in Jim’s living room and ended in Jim’s king sized bed.

And now, Jim slept the sleep of the thoroughly-fucked-out. Sleep eluded Sherlock so he lay quietly and watched Jim’s chest rise and fall. The loneliness of feeling like the only person awake in London sat like a stone in his chest.

_Scar tissue that I wish you saw_

He wanted to stroke Jim’s hair, rouse him and squirm into his arms. But that wasn’t what they _do_. They mindfuck each other and bodyfuck each other, always trying to one-up the other.

_Sarcastic mister know-it-all_

He knew if he asked, Jim would hold him. _But_. It would put a point on Jim’s tally, admitting he wanted the closeness of sleeping with his ear against Jim’s breastbone, listening to the comfort of Jim’s beating heart.

_Close your eyes and I’ll kiss you_

Tentatively, Sherlock traced Jim’s slack lips with his fingertip, just the softest brush of finger against lip. Jim pursed his lips and exhaled but he didn’t wake.

_‘cause, With the birds I’ll share This lonely view_

Not wanting to pester Jim further, Sherlock slipped out of bed, naked, and dropped into the chair by the window. He looked out over Jim’s deserted street. The darkness just before dawn was broken only by the streetlight at the corner. Silence, eeriely quiet for London, settled over Jim’s block. The lack of noise and darkness lodged further into Sherlock’s chest, making it hard for him to take a full breath.

“Hon? Whatcha doin?” Jim’s voice was sleep-soft, rough around the edge.

Sherlock turned to find Jim propped on an elbow, blinking at him in the dim glow from the window. “Can’t sleep,” he murmured in reply.

Jim smiled and held out his arms. “Come’re, sexy.”

Sherlock did, settling against Jim’s chest, who pulled him close and stroked his hair. He could hear the steady _lub-dub_ of Jim’s heart.

“Sleep, baby,” Jim murmured sleepily.

Sherlock smiled and kissed Jim’s sternum, content and finally drowsy.

 

(Scar Tissue by the Red Hot Chilli Peppers)


	16. 30 Free Day

Bright sunlight sliced across Sherlock’s eyelids, waking him. He dragged his phone off the nightstand and checked the time: 8:03am. It was _hateful_ to be awake so early on a day when he had absolutely nothing on.

Groaning, he flipped to his back and steepled his hands under his chin. He could skulk around the flat and whine at John that he was _b-o-r-e-d_. Or, he could try to alleviate the boredom before it set in. Mind made up, he thumbed out a quick text and hit SEND then headed into the loo to shower without waiting for the reply.

Later, after he’d carefully fixed his hair, shaved and dressed in jeans and an old, soft shirt, he finally allowed himself to check his texts. A smile spread across his face when he saw one waiting:

_Come on over_.

Now that the plan was made, nervousness settled into Sherlock’s stomach. This wasn’t what they _do_. They didn’t make _plans_. They didn’t _hang out._ Yet, here he was, ready to go _hang out_ with Jim. 

He dug in the nightstand and pulled out a strip on condoms then pocketed them - just in case.


End file.
